Infiltration Cut Scenes
by gammathetaalpha
Summary: These are a collection of deleted scenes from the Spider-Man/Avengers crossover Infiltration. They may make little to no sense, but I've had several people request them now. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

"Can you show me?" Peter asked instead.

"Peter…" SUSANNA's tone was warning. "That's an invasion to Dr. Banner's-"

Peter rubbed at his temple. "Just show me, please."

The TV on the wall lit up.

It was an empty, large space encased in shadows. The camera had been placed directly above the room, in the middle, in such a way that Peter had a bird's eye view. A still form lay in the middle, lying on the cold, metal floor.

Peter's spider-sense went wild. He tensed up. There was something extremely wrong about this image. Something-

The form shuddered and shifted.

Bruce's green-tinged face was contorted in an expression of unfathomable pain. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth were clenched together. Both arms were scrabbling, tearing at his skin, like it hurt. The single clinical white light shone down on his sweat-soaked, glistening features.

The sight was so pathetic, so unlike the Bruce Peter had come to know, that he took a few steps back.

Hot breath dusted the back of Peter's neck.

He pivoted.

Cold, black, intelligent eyes regarded him with a smouldering intensity that burned at Peter's sensitive nerves. Rough, scarred fingers wrapped around a metal gauntlet secured to the other hand. In the darkness of Peter's room, the ghostly, cold light of the arc reactor cast monstrous shadows about Tony Stark's face.

The deadly genius was eerily still. No movement disturbed the air around him. His little puffs of breath were the only sign that he was even alive. His predatory gaze remained fixed on Peter.

If the genius was still, Peter was a statue. His heart beat wildly in his chest, fast enough to be that of a rabbit, or a mouse. Pure terror whirled about his body like an electrical current. It flowed through his blood, into his arms and legs, his fingers and toes. The terror left him lightheaded. Never before had he felt more alive and never before had he felt closer to death.

Stark's lips contorted in a lifeless, humorless smile. Shiny white, camera-worthy teeth gleamed.

The hand encased in the gauntlet carelessly waved in the direction of the TV.

"You get used to it after awhile, you know." His voice was deceivingly even-toned. It felt utterly wrong in the circumstances.

Peter twitched. He didn't dare turn around, but he didn't need to. The image of Bruce shuddering in pain was still as clear as it had been when he'd been looking at it.

How could anyone get used to _that_?

"Most people don't realize how much of a curse Bruce's gift really is."

Stark took a step closer. He was inches from Peter's nose. Peter could smell coffee on his breath and fabric softener on the billionaire's T-shirt. It took every ounce of self-control not to take a step back.

"They see the precariousness of his situation. I'm sure some are sympathetic that he can't live a normal life, has to watch every move he makes, every step he wants to take."

If Peter listened carefully, he could hear a gentle _whir_ coming from the intricate gadget in Stark's chest. His heartbeat, which was usually audible at that distance, could barely be heard. It beated gentler than hearts should.

"But very few people know how much it hurts to become the Hulk." Stark fingered the gauntlet. Peter tensed and prepared to fight back.

Stark didn't raise the weapon up. He only smiled bitterly.

"Congrats. You're one of the lucky few."

Jealousy. Peter was well acquainted with the feeling. There were nights when he'd watch through some window of some cafe. Teenagers would be clumped around a table, sipping their drinks, nibbling at their food. They'd be more interested in whatever conversation was going on. They would laugh and it would come out naturally. Peter couldn't remember the last time a laugh had come naturally.

It wasn't Peter who was jealous this time. It was Stark. Peter could hear it in his voice, see it in the joyless grin.

Why would Stark be jealous of Peter? The billionaire had everything. Money, brains, popularity, supposedly a supportive girlfriend. He was a superhero. He was world renowned. Peter had nothing Stark could be jealous of.

Did he?

There was a bigger question burning in the back of his mind.

Did Stark know who he was?

It didn't take Sherlock to make the connection between "Dr. Banner gets protective over Spider-Man," to, "The person Dr. Banner now spends most his time with also happens to take really great photos of Spider-Man for the Daily Bugle."

"What do you want?" Peter was surprised his voice remained level. Inside, he felt like he was breaking down into a million shattered pieces of something delicate.

The lifeless smile had dropped off Stark's face. Now, it was eerily dull, mechanically blank. It looked more like the face on Stark's Iron Man suit than that of an actual human being.

"You know who Spider-Man is."

Peter swallowed.

Should he attempt to lie?

"No."

The word had come out a tad bit fast.

Stark's eyebrow twitched.

Cold metal pressed into Peter's chest. The force sent him stumbling back. He hit the wall.

It took every ounce of self-control not to retaliate. Every nerve in his body wanted him to.

* * *

 **And... cut!**


	2. Code Red White and Web Cut Scene

"Peter," SUSANNA alerted.

Peter finished laying the drunk man on his balcony on the third story of a large apartment complex. The guy was a decent person, just going through a tough time. Peter had found passed out in an alleyway a little ways from a bar. He'd had SUSANNA find the man's address.

He straightened up and slid into the shadows.

"What's up?"

"Stark just activated the tracker on your phone."

Peter stilled.

"Do you know why?"

"JARVIS won't tell me. I suspect that it has to do with your disappearance from the party."

There was a disapproving tone to her voice. Peter knew she wanted him to socialize, but he didn't agree with her this time. Within the ten minutes he'd been out, he'd already stopped three crimes.

"I'm not going back. You told me to give it a chance-"

"You were there five minutes!"

"-and I did." Spider-Man shrugged. "Parties just aren't my thing."

"Spider-Man…"

"Why are you getting on my case? I just caught three criminals!"

SUSANNA huffed.

"You need a vacation. Just take a break. Just tonight. Please?"

In the distance, there was a loud, shrill scream. It was abruptly cut off. Spider-Man tensed. He double checked to make sure the drunk man was safely concealed in the shadows, then leaped up. His hands and feet easily navigated up the side of the apartment complex.

"See what I mean?" He hissed. "Please turn the tracker on my phone off. I'm more useful out here than I am at a party anyways."

He reached the roof of the building. Without even the slightest hesitation, he leaped off, and shot out a string of web. _Thwick._ Spider-Man gracefully free-fell for a moment, before the web caught him. He jolted, and swung above the quiet street below his feet.

"Fine," SUSANNA grumbled. "Just don't ask me for help if Steve lectures you on manners and the importance of rest."

Spider-Man didn't respond, focused on the task at hand. _Thwick._ He landed on the top of another rooftop, this one overlooking a dead-end alleyway. Sharp eyes scanned for the smallest movement, and sensitive ears listened for even a minute sound.

Shadows near a door shifted. Noisy, frantic breaths became audible. There.

Swift and silent, he slithered down the back of the fire escape, to the big dumpster below. He perched himself on top, concealed by the darkness.

"I told you I needed you home."

The sound of a slap. A muffled gasp. Spider-Man's lips thinned. His hand clenched into a fist.

"Why'd you sneak out Michelle?" The man mocked. "Was I not clear enough?"

The shadows shifted again. A tall man swung a teenager around. She was sent flying onto her back, landing with a nasty thump on the hard ground. Tufts of curly brown hair went flying every which direction.

She had to be at least four years younger than Peter.

The man's black eyes glittered. He raised his foot up in the air and aimed it at her chest. The girl- Michelle -scrambled backwards on her hands and feet, eyes wide.

The next moment, the man was hanging upside down, ankle in Spider-Man's red hand.

"I think you've made yourself perfectly clear." Spider-Man's voice might have been deceptively light, but his movements were more forceful and lethal than usual. "You're a coward. Pick on someone your own size."

He dropped the man. The heavy figure awkwardly landed on his stomach with a painful _fwhomp._ Two swift globs of webs had the man's hands pinned to the ground.

"Mind your own business, you bi-"

Another _thwip,_ and the jerk's mouth was satisfyingly webbed shut.

Spider-Man ignored the thrashing and muffled curses, and went to help up Michelle. She climbed to her feet before he could, leaning on the dumpster for support.

"You okay?"

She turned at him, eyebrows bent down in a heated glare.

"What were you thinking?" She hissed. "Now he's just going to beat me up more."

This wasn't the first time he'd encountered a situation like this. Kids and teens stuck in nasty situations they were unwilling to get out of, either in fear of the system or because of another family member that needed their protection. Spider-Man encountered it regularly and it infuriated him. He hated it when there was nothing he could do to guarantee that these kids wouldn't end up with more abuses because he'd stopped one.

Spider-Man remained apathetic to her venom. He reached into his pocket for a pen.

"Hand."

She eyed him distrustfully before offering him her palm. The wrist already had bad bruises. It looked like a bad sprain. He scribbled a number in blue ink.

"If you ever want to get out, call that. A Susanna will answer. She's got resources available for you, including ways to make you disappear for a little while if you need to and places to stay, and she can contact me."

They had set up the number months ago. SUSANNA would answer calls and get them out of the situation. A few times, Peter had had to make quick excuses to people in his normal life to go help these kids get out of immediate danger. About fifty percent called eventually. Spider-Man did his best not to think about what happened to the rest.

"Put some ice on that wrist," he commanded softly. "The webs will dissolve in a few hours."

Michelle opened her mouth like she was going to retort, before she shut it again. The tension went out of her shoulders. She went from bold and ready to fight, to a puppet only being held up by fragile string.

"I will," She muttered.

That was the best he could do… with her. Spider-Man stalked back over to the man. He knelt down so his mask was almost eye level with the man's face.

"Touch her again," he threatened in low tones, "and I'll hurt you. I _will_ find out about it and I _will_ be watching."

Spider-Man waited until he was a safe distance from the alley to talk to SUSANNA.

"You see what I mean? The rest of them might be out there having fun, but there's always somebody who's holiday isn't going so well. You can't ask me to enjoy a party when I know there's people in situations like that out there." He slumped back against a wall and shut his eyes. "She couldn't have been older than fourteen."

There was a few moments of silence. Despite the fact that he'd heard it many times, he couldn't get the sound of the slap out of his mind.

Eventually, SUSANNA spoke. Her tone was gentle, and all traces of humor had left it.

"You're right, mijo. This is a much better way to spend your fourth of July. I'm sorry for pushing you."

Spider-Man felt a tiny smile slip onto his lips.

"Did you just admit that I'm right?"

SUSANNA scoffed.

"For the first time in ten months. And you _still_ need to take a vacation at some point. Too bad they we can't hire substitute Spider-Mans."

His phone dinged. Spider-Man pulled it out of his pocket.

"Bank robbery on 39th! Stop complaining, SUSANNA. I've got work to do."

Spider-Man shot out a web and swung away.

* * *

Steve watched Spider-Man's rapidly retreating figure with a frown on his face.

He'd followed Peter from the street as the young vigilante had made his way to the alley. Steve had patiently waited outside the alley for Spider-Man to finish confronting the criminal. Then, morbid curiosity peaked, he'd peered into the gloom.

Just in time to watch the big man throw the young girl to the cement. He'd almost stepped in right there, but then Spider-Man had intervened. The man was successfully webbed to the ground, and Peter had gone to help the girl.

" _What were you thinking?"_ The girl had hissed _. "Now he's just going to beat me up more."_

Steve didn't like bullies. This man, who was probably the girl's father, was a bully. The only differences between the gap-toothed, overall-clothed bullies of the 50's and this man here were physical.

He'd felt anger rise up in his chest, anger at the injustice of it.

Spider-Man had handled the situation well, like he did it daily. With a jolt, Steve realized Peter probably did.

Steve hadn't had the courage to confront the teenager as he stalked out of the alley. Steve had slid into the shadows, and waited until the kid was a safe distance away before he followed him.

He'd caught up just in time to hear the conversation with SUSANNA.

" _You see what I mean? The rest of them might be out there having fun, but there's always somebody who's holiday isn't going so well. You can't ask me to enjoy a party when I know there's people in situations like that out there."_

Suddenly, the pancakes, the 'Code Web', and everything else the Avengers had prepared to get Peter to overcome his antisocial tendencies and attend the party, had seemed cheap and shallow.

Suddenly, Steve knew what to do.

"Change of plans," He muttered over the comms. "I want everyone to meet at the bank on 39th. Fourth of July can wait."

* * *

 **This was an ending to the short story Code Red White and Web (which I'm attempting to finish by the fourth), but I was really trying to make that story lighter, and this bit was pretty dark.**

 **Go check out nikki_ofshadows, who recently wrote an epic 3 part story on AO3. It's called Peter's Never-ending Stubborness. It's about Peter being stubborn, and Tony trying to deal with stubborn Peter, and Peter being even more stubborn. I loved reading it!**

 **I'm on Tumblr! My personal tumblr is gammathetaalpha and I have one created specifically for Infiltration, called InfiltrationbyGamma. Go check that one out for updates on how Infiltration's coming, tidbits, and other random stuff.**


	3. Slick's Backstory

**This was originally going to be Slick's backstory, before I decided to cut it, to focus on Peter, Bruce, and the Avengers. I'm still alive and still working on Infiltration, don't worry!**

Once upon a time Raelyn had not lived in silence. She had roamed the great stone halls of Grottenheim without taking notice of how her leather sandals slapped as she raced to the library, without taking notice of how her voice echoed through the large spacious caverns, when she called to passerbys in the great underground city. She certainly hadn't taken notice of her own breath.

Once upon a time was the beginning of a ridiculous Midgardian fairytale. Perhaps once upon a time she had roamed in and out of the city as she willed, but now her home was a prison cell. The guards were listening carefully for sound, any sound. No longer did Raelyn's sandals slap when she walked. She tiptoed from place to place on bare, dirty feet. No longer did she speak to passerbys. The passerbys would turn her into one of them, or torture her until she died. No longer was the sound of her breath forgotten amidst a noisy life. Now, as she huddled in the corner of an abandoned storeroom, shivering, her breath was the only sound she heard. Raelyn hated it and loved it, because she knew without the sound of her breath, she would be dead.

Each breath was another second, seconds ticking away, counting down to the moment she messed up.

A mistake would be fatal. Her invisibility was necessity. She had to travel from room to room without leaving a trace. Not a crumb of her stolen meals left on the floor. Even a piece of her hair could give them a way to find her.

She would remain invisible while she slept, and replenish her store of magic while awake. Sometimes, she would slip into one of the libraries scattered throughout the city, and search for information.

They were possessed, every one of them, with something hungry, something savage. Gradually, Raelyn had realized they were no longer themselves, but something else. A dark energy buzzed around them. 'Danger', something within her screamed. 'You are in danger'.

At first, it had been maddening. To look in the eyes of her friends and kin, and feel an uneasiness rise up within her stomach. Maddening enough that once, when the gaze of a street urchin passed across her face, and her stomach fluttered, she seized him round the shoulders and thrust her conscious within his.

Voices. They screeched and murmured and hissed and boomed, a grating symphony that had her reeling back from the boy.

What horrible monster had she stumbled across? His innocent, fat face, smudged with dirt and grime, had something black within its gaze. He desired her death.

Raelyn had realized it was everywhere. The voices echoed through the air, bounced off the walls, went through and came from every Asgardian around her. Her heart had sped up and her fingers had began to tremble, much like the time she had been locked outside the city gates when night time fell. She'd been scared silly at the thought of being locked out.

She had forced her legs to move at a normal pace. Raelyn's feet took her back home, down long halls and echoing flights of steps. If her feet hadn't been well acquainted with the path, her feet would've lost the way. She was in a daze.

It wasn't until she arrived home that the reality sunk in.

Her mother's cheerful face felt _wrong wrong wrong_ knowing what she knew. Raelyn sat down to dinner when told to, but the meat and the grains wouldn't slide down her throat.

She had asked to be excused halfway through the meal. Her mother and father glanced at each other. Their look had been unreadable.

There had been the sour taste of bile in her mouth. Raelyn had quickly fled to her room.

Outside the carved stone walls of her childhood home, the lamplighters had patiently begun their march down the cobble street. They would pause at each glowing orb suspended high above their heads, and with gold-coated rods, gently tap them. The light would snuff out and the shadows would grow more lengthy. It was when the last lamplighter, in her red and gold garments, had reached for the last wavering, flickering lamp that her parents had come upstairs, her father's old dagger concealed beneath his cloak.

Raelyn opened her eyes and studied the cold stone floor beneath her with sudden interest. It was foolish to dwell upon it. What purpose would it serve? Not any that would get her out of the hell she found herself dwelling in.

She was growing fatigued. Her torn, dark garments hung off her pale, skeletal frame. Her hair was limp, greasy, and uneven. It had grown unruly and a burden, and she had chopped most of it off. She was always cold. She shivered constantly, no matter the amount of blankets she might cover herself with.

If she didn't find a solution soon, she would die or succumb to Kvilla's will.

Raelyn rubbed her arms and shut her eyes again. She wasn't sure what was worse.


End file.
